


Bachelors of Fine Asses

by AlyKat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bachelors of Fine Arts senior art show, Felix Blake mentioned, Illustration major Clint Barton, M/M, Maria Hill/Jasper Sitwell mentioned, Melinda May/Andrew mentioned, Mine sucked, Nick Fury mentioned, painting major Phil Coulson, so Phil gets to have one that ends happier than mine did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is having the worst Senior Art show imaginable. Well, kind of, anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bachelors of Fine Asses

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Marvel's toys, I just play with them.
> 
> This story is based on actual events. I wish I could say the "actual events" were some dorky gorgeous guy hitting on me and making me feel good about my artwork at the BFA show last Saturday, but, it's not.

_“I promise, Sport. I took the day off. I told Dale under no circumstances was I going to work the day of your art show, or of graduation. Your mom and I will be there. Absolutely.”_

Phil shifted from foot to foot, awkwardly adjusting his tie as he checked his phone for the hundred-thousandth time. The art show was due to start in a little while, and he still hadn’t heard from anyone he’d invited. But, there was still time. Which meant there was still hope.

Even if his dad had ended up having to work that morning. Surely he was done by mid-afternoon and that would give him plenty of time to get home, washed up, changed, and him and Phil’s mom to get to the college in time for the art show. Phil was getting anxious over nothing.

His classmates were all there, or were trickling in, most with their families, some with their significant others. Maria Hill – a ceramics major – was there with her boyfriend Jasper Sitwell in tow. Felix Blake was there with his parents and three younger siblings – two of whom were chasing each other around the pedestals of jewelry and coming dangerously close to knocking things over. Phil’s best friend Nick Fury had just gone inside with his mom and grandma to show off his paintings. The awesome abstracts that Phil had heard a number of people praising already, a few people even wondering if one of the pieces was for sale.

Nobody asked if Phil’s paintings were for sale.

In his hand, his phone buzzed twice to signal a text message. He jumped and quickly looked down at the screen.

[Dad: Your mom’s not home. Fed the cat and let the dog out. Need 2 go 2 Marty’s 2 drop stuff off. B home later.]

Phil’s heart sank to the soles of his uncomfortable dress shoes as he stared at the message. Marty was his dad’s best friend. There was no way his dad was going to be out of there any time soon.

Throat tight and chest heavy, Phil stood on the lawn of the art building blinking away the traitorous tears that were threatening to fall. It was just a stupid art show, after all. Nothing that was even remotely up his parent’s alley. And the friends he’d invited, well, it was close to a two hour drive for them to get there, so, understandable that they wouldn’t have come. He supposed, anyway. Never mind the fact just two years before he’d driven down to their school to see their senior art show and support them.

He swallowed thickly and reached up to nudge his glasses back up his nose before sliding his phone back into his pocket. Inside the building, a woman’s group was singing pop songs and people were laughing about and having a good time. It was one of the highlights of senior year at the university. The Bachelors of Fine Arts show was huge and showcased so many talented artists from every discipline, people from all over came to admire. Not to mention everyone in the show had their families and friends come in to see it.

Everyone, that was, except Phil. Apparently.

A couple walked past him on his right, his other best friend Melinda and her boyfriend Andrew, and Phil honestly felt a pang of jealousy run through him when Andrew leaned in to give Melinda a kiss on the head. Phil didn’t even have a boyfriend to come and support him.

Yeah, this night really pretty much sucked.

With a final head shake, and after squaring his shoulders, Phil lifted his chin and turned to head into the building. His perfectly bland mask slipped back into place and he knew he would have no trouble blending into the wall next to his paintings. Maybe if he stood next to his paintings someone would talk to him about them, and maybe even want to buy one. It wasn’t likely, but maybe.

He’d just reach the doors when a hand shot out in front of him to grab the handle and pull it open. Startled, Phil looked up to find smiling blue-green eyes twinkling at him from under a mop of blond-brown hair. Where the guy had suddenly appeared from, Phil didn’t know, but there was no mistake that he was definitely one of the most attractive men Phil had seen in quite some time. The man was roughly about Phil’s age – okay, so he was probably younger, a lot of people seemed to be – and a good two or three inches taller than him. That alone was enough to make his pulse quicken, but the build of the guy’s body was just incredible and solid. Not quite Steve Rogers built – but then again, no one was as built as Steve Rogers. With the possible exception of Thor. Maybe.

The guy smiled at Phil, politely at first, which made Phil duck his head a little in thanks as he slipped through the door and hope his ears weren’t burning too badly. Part of him wanted to turn back around and smile back at the guy, but he was too afraid too. After all, the guy was way out of his league. Besides that, what were the chances he was even at least bi?

A low whistle behind him nearly answered that question for him. And if it hadn’t, the words that suddenly filled the quiet little porch did.

“Man, you have got to be a graduating artist,” the guy said, voice smooth and flirty, “because you have got a Bachelors in Fine Asses.”

Phil nearly tripped over his feet as he spun around to stare at the guy. Had he just…? Did he really just…? His jaw must have been hanging slack, if the way the color from the guy’s face drained so quickly was any indication. This was not what Phil needed at the moment. Weird and awkward pick-up lines from a total stranger. Albeit, a gorgeous stranger, which really just made Phil feel even more self-conscious and honestly a tad bit afraid. Gorgeous guys never paid him the time of day, let alone try to hit on him.

Before he could say a word, the guy was stammering out an apology and hurrying past him.

“Shit. Sorry! That was really stupid and I can’t believe I actually said that out loud. I’m sorry. I’m just…gonna go throw myself down the elevator shaft now. Sorry!”

“Wha…I…” Phil stammered. All he could do was after the guy as he disappeared into the crowd filling the gallery.

Shoulders slumped, a soft huff escaped Phil as he stood dumbfounded in the doorway. Suddenly, keeping up a brave and nonchalant façade didn’t matter as much to him, anymore. With his hands shoved into his khakis pockets, he trudged into the gallery and did his best to just get lost amongst the people.

~*~*~

Phil’s knees were nearly throbbing in pain and oh how his back was protesting having to stand so long in one place in the most uncomfortable shoes ever created. He was only twenty-eight, he shouldn’t feel so old, but he did. Which was a nice contrast to earlier when he felt ridiculously young and stupid – both for believing that his parents would actually make it to his art show, and at being so disappointed that no one showed up to show support just for him. He’d stood near his two paintings on display – both fantasy landscapes in bright colors and strong composition, one showing flying vehicles and tiny people milling about on a futuristic sundeck, the other featuring a beautiful island in a sea of blues, pinks, greens, and purples as two moons set in the distance – and he watched as people came up, looked at both for a couple of seconds and then moved on.

He had successfully blended into the background. Just him and his glass of fruit punch. Going unnoticed as people brushed by him and his work to go on to more interesting things. To say he felt somewhat a failure was to say that the grass was green.

As Phil stood there staring down into his punch glass, silently weighing the pros and cons of either leaving early or going out to buy some liquor to spike the punch with at least, a figure came to stand by him. He didn’t pay them any attention, though. People had done that most of the night, and usually ended up bumping into him when they finally decided to wander off again. It wasn’t until a small plate holding a single oversized chocolate truffle slid under his nose that he finally looked up.

Right into those blue-green eyes again.

“Hi…” The guy smile awkwardly, apologetically. “I uh, I wanted to apologize, about earlier. My brain to mouth filter doesn’t always work.”

Phil stared, blinking blankly, for a moment before he looked back down to the offered plate. He hadn’t even seen the food when he’d gone for his drink earlier.

Slowly, he took the plate and nodded. “It’s okay. I have a couple friends who are the same way.”

The smile that spread across that gorgeous face just managed to make the guy all the more attractive and to bring a bright light back to his eyes. Phil was a little bit smitten. Or a lot smitten. Okay, totally and completely smitten!

“I’m Clint Barton, by the way,” The guy – Clint – said, hand extended out to shake Phil’s.  

Phil reached out to shake hands, paused when he realized both hands were full, and quickly juggled things around until he could. Clint’s grasp was firm and warm, unique callouses spread across his palm and fingers. It was nice, actually.

“Phil Coulson.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” Clint smiled.

Confusion etched across Phil’s face as he tilted his head to one side, not yet realizing they hadn’t actually released each other’s hand.

A soft shade of pink crept up Clint’s cheeks as he shrugged. “Well, you either had to be Phil, or you were just some guy who’d taken a very vested interest in these paintings for him to not leave them the whole night.”

Now it was Phil’s turn to blush. He ducked his head again, becoming so enthralled by the sprinkles of Oreo crumbs on the truffle.

“Yeah, they’re mine,” Phil’s voice was quiet, but pleased. No one the whole night had asked him if they were his. It felt better than it probably should have to finally be asked.

At his side, Clint chuckled. “Yeah, like I said. I figured.”

Phil looked up and watched as Clint moved to stand in front of the paintings. In the bright light of the gallery, Clint’s eyes seemed to change colors each time they shifted to take in different aspects of each one. Phil was mesmerized and transfixed on just watching him. He wasn’t a huge fan of painting people, but there was something about Clint that made him wish he had his sketchbook so he could do a quick sketch to work off of later.

When Clint turned his attention back to Phil, there was a smile on his face. “These are really great. I love the brush strokes on this one, especially,” Clint pointed to the island painting as he looked at it another time. “There’s something loose and freeing about it. The colors are really warm and bright. Rich, that’s what Nat would say. They’re rich looking. I love it.”

Heat rushed up Phil’s cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. He stuffed the truffle into his mouth, washing it down quickly with his drink just to try and keep the grin threatening to split his face in two from spreading. Class critiques had never gone very well for Phil, so having a near perfect stranger (and oh he was willing to bet Clint really was near perfect) see in the painting what Phil had always seen and loved about it felt like all his hard work was now validated.

“And this one,” Phil looked up again as Clint continued on and moved to the second painting, “Your attention to detail is amazing, especially for being oil paint. I mean, I could see this as like a digital illustration, but you’ve done it in oils, that’s not easy, man! I’ve got a friend who would probably kill to have this hanging in his shop.”

All at once, Phil’s heart leapt to his throat. He swallowed thickly and tried to ignore the way his palms suddenly started sweating. “Yeah?”

Clint turned his bright eyes back to Phil, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh yeah! Guy I know has his own comic shop. The basement of the place is where they do all their game nights and shit. He’s always saying how he needs to get some artwork or something to put down there so it’s not so plain and boring. This would be right up his alley. Man,” Clint huffed and shook his head, grinning widely for Phil. “Your folks must love having your work hanging up around the house.”

Phil’s shoulders must have slumped – in fact, he knew they had, he’d felt it happen. He watched the smile fade off Clint’s face and quickly shook his head.

“No, it’s okay, don’t apologize again.” Phil said, quickly cutting him off before he even had the chance. “My paintings aren’t exactly my parent’s thing. They think they’re nice, don’t get me wrong, but they don’t know what to do with them. So…they pretty much all sit in the storage room in plastic bags.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, you’ve probably sold a few of these puppies, right? So it’s not like your house is filled…” Clint trailed off as Phil’s eyes lowered and he glanced away. “You’ve never sold any of these?”

Phil shook his head. His lips pressed tight against his teeth as he looked back to his paintings. He was still looking anywhere except at Clint, so he missed the way Clint glanced around the gallery and took in the sight of the other painters and art majors milling around with their families and friends.

“Did your folks even come to the show?” The question was quiet, and much closer than it should have been. Phil could feel the warm of Clint’s body against his arm and realized he’d stepped in closer while Phil wasn’t looking.

Again, Phil shook his head.

There was a small pause before, “Did _anyone_ come to the show for you?”

Phil’s nose tickled, that was why it scrunched the way it did. And the lights were hurting his eyes, that’s why they suddenly felt like burning and wet. Not because this incredibly gorgeous, and seemingly sweet and caring guy had sounded so sad on his behalf.

Silence fell between them for the longest time and Phil felt like slinking away to hide. Felix’s paintings were going to be featured in an international art and fashion show in Tokyo that fall. Nick had sold four or five paintings in the past year, two were sold even before they were created! Melinda had been in a number of area art shows and had sold her fair share of pieces. Phil’s artwork though? Well, Phil’s artwork had always been “nice”. Apparently “nice” was never good enough to want to buy, or to be accepted into shows.

At his side, Clint made a disgusted sound, drawing Phil out of his mental angst over how everything always seemed to be “good” but never good enough to be anything more than that. Clint moved to pull his cell phone from his pocket and take a picture of the futuristic painting.

“Alright, look. I’m not doing this out of pity, so don’t get the wrong idea. I was seriously gonna send a text to a couple people who’d be interested in this one anyway. And, I seriously want that island painting. I was gonna offer you a trade of goods for it, but man, it’s senior year. Everyone deserves to have sold at least something by now. So, how much would you like for the island painting? It needs to go on my wall.”

Clint never looked up from tapping away at his cell phone.

Dumbfounded, Phil blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “I…don’t know. I’ve never really put a price on ‘em. I don’t know what a reasonable price would be for ‘em.”

“Okay, but you would be willing to sell ‘em, right?”

Phil nodded quickly. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

Finally, Clint met Phil’s eyes again as he gave a sharp nod. “Okay, so, my best friend is Natasha,” He motioned off towards the illustration major’s section to where a petite red head was smiling politely at the small group gathered around her table, an obvious gap beside her where someone else was supposed to be standing. “She’s great at figuring out how much to charge for things. She’s been helping me figure out prices for my stuff for the past four years.”

Tightness was threatening to strangle Phil as he listened to Clint continue talking.

“I’ll give you her number and let her know you’ll be calling or texting her or whatever,” Clint glanced back to Phil and motioned towards his pocket. “You gonna put her number in your phone or not?”

Startled, Phil jumped into action, scrambling to pull his phone out. He’d barely gotten his new contact page open before Clint was rattling off the phone number. Somehow one of the crappiest nights of Phil’s life had taken a drastic turn into one for the better. The fact no one had shown up just for him still hurt, but less now. He’d potentially just sold two paintings! For the first time ever!

Feeling a rush of bravery he didn’t usually have, Phil kept his eyes trained on his phone as he typed in details about the number so he wouldn’t forget, and asked, “So, is there a number I can reach you at, too? In case I can’t get hold of your friend? Or…in case I want to ask you out for coffee or something after graduation?”

He glanced up over to top of his thick, dark rimmed glasses, but under his long eyelashes, and smiled shyly. A slow smirk spread across Clint’s face, shoulders relaxed and hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his feet.

“Even after my ridiculously bad pick-up line slip?”

“Well,” Phil shrugged, sliding his phone back into his own pocket and lifting his head, “the line could have been a lot worse, and you are planning to buy my painting. So, consider it a thank you for completely making my night?"

Clint’s smirk grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a bit as he rocked closer to Phil. “How ‘bout we call it a date and I’ll see what I can do about making your entire year?”

Laughter bubbled up out of Phil as Clint wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“How ‘bout we call it a date and see how much you can make my night afterwards before we plan anything long term?”

“Oh man, Coulson, I could definitely make your entire year in one night. But if not,there’s always the second date, just in case.”

Fighting back a dopey smile, and hoping his blush wasn’t too painfully obvious, Phil laughed and nodded. “That sounds promising.”

Clint waggled his eyebrows one more time before he moved in just that little bit closer to Phil. “Oh, it is.”

With butterflies swooping through Phil’s stomach, Phil was glad his parents hadn’t been able to make it to the show after all. This was, without a doubt, far better of a night than he’d thought it was going to be.

 

Fini.


End file.
